


The Raging Quiet

by Selkit



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Dragon Age Rare Pair Exchange, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Velanna finds herself out of her comfort zone when Nathaniel returns to camp in a darker mood than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Raging Quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hot_elf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/gifts).



> Written for hot-elf for the Dragon Age Rare Pair Exchange on Tumblr, inspired by the prompt "comfort on cold nights."

Velanna dozed, teetering on the edge of sleep. 

The campfire flickered outside her tent, its hazy light smearing red-orange patches on the canvas walls. She could hear the murmuring voices of the few Wardens still awake, playing one of their human card games, their muted conversation punctuated now and again by barks of laughter or disappointed groans. 

She ignored them, turning onto her side and letting her eyes drift closed, lashes scraping on the rough fabric of her makeshift pillow. The others sometimes complained about the difficulties of sleeping outdoors when they were sent on missions, preferring their soft beds in Vigil’s Keep to cramped tents and lumpy bedrolls, but Velanna always tuned them out with a scoff. 

Her tent was a far cry from her old aravel, but now it was as close to home as she was likely to ever get. 

She almost missed it when the conversation outside went abruptly silent, interrupted by the thud of approaching footsteps. Her eyes narrowed into the darkness, sharpening on the tent’s creases and seams, and her fingers crept forward to curl around the staff perched next to her bedroll. 

_Not darkspawn._ The taint was still and silent in her blood, aside from its ever-present dull throbbing. _Besides, the others would raise the alarm if darkspawn were upon us._

The footsteps slowed as they approached her tent, halting an instant before the flap flew back, replacing the darkness with a quick, bright flash of firelight. Velanna squeezed her eyes shut against the flare, body tensing under her blankets. 

“Nathaniel?” she asked, forcing sleep out of her voice as she flipped onto her side, balancing her weight on one elbow. Her other hand snaked out, flames twisting around her fingers as the tent flap snapped back into place, the heavy slap of fabric on fabric making her flinch despite herself.

“It’s me,” he said, his back to her. His voice was low and flat, several degrees away from a snarl. “Did I wake you?”

She let the fire recede back into her palm, cupping her fingers around the smoldering glow. The light played over his body, revealing the tension in his arms and shoulders, the muscles in his neck taut like ropes pulled too tight. 

“No,” she said. “Not entirely.”

His only reply was a grunt, nearly inaudible. Velanna’s eyes followed him as he began to disrobe, his movements stiff and jerking. 

“Did you find all the supplies we needed at the marketplace?” she asked. 

“Yes. They’re outside.” He finally turned toward her, his expression half-obscured in the shadows, darkness carving deep lines in his face. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be there in a moment.”

A terse growl crept into his voice, bringing all the words up short. Velanna watched him a moment before lowering herself back to the bedroll, propping her head in one hand. She rolled her other wrist in a languid motion, the flames flicking idly across her fingertips. 

“Someone insulted your family again, didn’t they?” she said.

Nathaniel went very still. 

“How did you know that?” he asked, turning to lock eyes with her. His face was inscrutable, layered in shadows and stoicism. 

Velanna tilted her head back on her shoulders, rolling her eyes toward the tent ceiling. “It’s no weighty secret that any mention of your father is the quickest way to put you in a foul mood,” she said. “Anyone with any wits at all would pick that as their first guess.”

His answering chuckle was dark, but a little of the tension eased from his face. “That obvious, is it?”

She gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Do you take me for one of those twittering fool recruits they tow back to the Keep? I should think by now I can tell your dark, broody expressions apart from each other.” 

“Point made.” Nathaniel turned away from her again, pulling off his outer tunic and letting it drop to the ground. She saw his face tighten further as the cold night air bit into his skin through his undershirt. “And yes, you were right. One of the shopkeepers at the marketplace recognized me and had some choice comments at the ready.”

Velanna laughed, short and sharp. “That went over well, I’m sure.”

“He succeeded in making a scene, if nothing else,” Nathaniel said. Velanna watched his hands curl into fists, as though his anger were a tangible thing to grasp and pull back. “And in whipping up a small mob. It was fortunate my business was nearly done by the time he noticed me, or things could have become very…unpleasant.”

He stood, staring at the ground, shoulders hunched against his family’s demons. Velanna ground her teeth and cast about for the right thing to say, pushing down on the tide of frustration welling in her throat.

“Why do you care so much about what a mob of dirty humans in a market thinks, anyway?” she finally demanded. “Their minds are set, and they will go on hating you and your father no matter what you do.”

“I just wonder when it ends, I suppose.” He let out a heavy sigh, hissing through clenched teeth. “It seems as though each time I begin to come to terms with it, someone dredges up the past and wants to wallow in it again.” 

He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was so low Velanna had to lean in to hear him.

“It wasn’t only me and my father they insulted, either,” he said. “They targeted my sister as well.”

Velanna let out a soundless breath. _No wonder his mood is so dark._

A tide of choice phrases regarding sister-slanderers crowded her mind, each more scathing than the last, but she bit them back with an effort worthy of the Creators themselves. Somehow, it didn’t seem as though any of them would help. _Even if they are all true_ , she thought grimly.

Seranni would have known exactly what to say in this situation. Her sister had always had a way with words, soothing and calm where Velanna was sharp and caustic. Even Ilshae, with all her maddening platitudes and placid adages, had been adept at bestowing wisdom and comfort when it was most needed. 

It was a talent Velanna knew she would never possess. 

“Well—” she finally said, and let out a huff. “Come to bed already. It’s too cold to stand around in the dark brooding.”

She slipped down onto the bedroll and twitched back the blankets, letting the light in her hand fade to a dull gleam. Nathaniel made a discontented sound deep in his throat, but lowered himself to his knees and rolled onto his side next to her, pulling the blanket up to his chest. 

Velanna clicked her tongue, scooting closer to him. “You didn’t even take your braids out.” 

“I’ve slept with them in before,” he muttered, fixing her with his familiar long-suffering stare. His eyes were slits, barely catching the flickers of light from her hand.

“Yes, and you’ll wake up tomorrow with your hair looking like a bird’s nest, and you’ll be grumpy _again_ when you try to work out the tangles. Come here.” She beckoned, crooking an impatient finger, and Nathaniel blew out a sigh deep enough to rustle the frayed threads at the blanket’s edge. He edged forward on his knees and elbows until he rested against her side, his head tucked in the crook of her shoulder. 

“If you insist,” he mumbled into her neck, lips brushing against her skin. 

It was almost strange, she thought absently, how easily her arms had taken to slipping around his broad shoulders, so different from an elf’s narrow frame. Her hands slid along his spine and into his hair, pulling on the tie at the bottom of his braid. It came free with little difficulty, and she tossed it to the side, fingers tugging at the plaited hair as gently as she could manage. 

“If I can’t find that tomorrow morning, I’m blaming you,” Nathaniel murmured. His voice was already heavy, thick with the familiar weariness that went hand in hand with the weight of lingering anger. The words trailed off into a soft groan as her fingers combed through his hair, nails scraping lightly on his scalp. 

Velanna rolled her eyes in the darkness. “If you can’t find a single hair tie in a small tent, your reputation as a skilled hunter and scout will be called rather sharply into question.”

He grunted, but she could feel him starting to relax, the stiffness in his shoulders slowly ebbing away. His breathing grew steady and quiet, almost matching the rhythm of her fingers’ strokes. Outside the tent, all was still save for the occasional crackle from the fire, the other Wardens’ voices long since faded away. 

“If you like,” she said at length, keeping her voice low, “tomorrow we could go back to the market and set fire to everyone who spoke ill of your family.”

She felt a sharp prickle of relief when he chuckled, the sound dry rather than dark. “I’m not entirely sure that would help,” he said.

“It would make you feel better,” she pointed out.

“Possibly,” he said. “At least for the few brief moments before being arrested.” 

“Pah.” She waved one hand. “A trifling matter. We could fight them off easily—and even if that failed, you know how to pick locks.”

He laughed again, softly, and pressed his lips to the spot between her neck and shoulder. 

“I think a few hours of sleep will suffice,” he said. “Which should be possible now, thanks to you.”

She frowned, fingers going still in his hair. “I didn’t do anything.”

He draped his arm over her waist, drawing lazy circles on her side. “Yes, you did.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he made no further sound aside from his quiet breathing. His fingertips trailing along her side grew slower and finally stopped, and she felt his muscles loosen in sleep, head still pillowed on her shoulder. 

“Typical human,” she muttered automatically, but made no attempt to fight off the little spark of warmth in her chest.


End file.
